


my love is a wound

by smallredboy



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Canon Dialogue, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Trans Martin Blackwood, mag039 infestation, trapped together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Canon banter from MAG039, with Martin's internal monologue throughout.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 2
Kudos: 86
Collections: Allbingo, Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 10





	my love is a wound

**Author's Note:**

> **hurt/comfort bingo** : trapped together + loss of job/income  
>  **allbingo** : loyalty  
>  **transbingo** : hopelessly devoted
> 
> i am barely starting s2, a friend of mine told me that jonmartin are the canon-esque gays and i am a simple man with simple needs, which are a boss/employee dynamic featuring desperate-for-approval employee and cold bastard boss. this provides that dynamic! thank you rusty quill for my rights.
> 
> enjoy!

"Why are you here, Martin?"

It's a simple question, a simple question to be asked in the middle of a worm uprising that's probably going to kill the two of them, but it sends a chill down his spine. They're trapped in the only room that is sealed correctly, the room he has been fussing over so it will work out properly, so they will have a few minutes to have a heart-to-heart in. They'll become wormfood and this will be one of the last few conversations they have.

He's settled down on the floor, staring intently at Jonathan's injured leg.

"Well, Prentiss is out there and you can't run, so—"

"I mean at the Archive in general," Jonathan snaps, looking at him, looking through him. He often offers him that look, a look that always makes him dizzy and weak at the knees. "Why haven't you quit?"

He stays stock-still, a sigh leaving his mouth. "Are you giving me my review now?" he asks, failing to not sound bitter. 

"No…" Jonathan pauses, looking down at the floor. "We're clearly doing a whole heart-to-heart and, truth be told, the question's been bothering me. You've been living in the Archives for four months, constant threat of… this." He makes a vague hand motion, pointing at the sealed door. "Sleeping with a fire extinguisher and a corkscrew. Even  _ you _ must be aware that that's not normal for an archiving job. Why are you still here?"

There are many answers he can give to that question, but the truest one is one he cannot tell Jonathan under any circumstances. He already sees him as a bumbling fool not apt for the job of an assistant in investigation, he can't imagine telling him that one of the biggest reasons he has not quit is him. Jonathan won't  _ mock _ him for that, no, at least not to his face.

He can sort of imagine him mumbling into his tape recorder about his stupid employee with a stupid crush on him.  _ Of course Martin has the hots for me, no wonder he bumbles through the job. _

He fiddles with his hands, looking for an apt response, a response that won't make Jonathan scoff out loud.

"Don’t really know. I just am. It didn’t feel right to just leave. I’ve typed up a few resignation letters, but I just couldn’t bring myself to hand them in." He pauses a little, his chest tightening as if he's wearing a binder. He has written a few of them, three to be precise, but he's ended up scrapping all of them. The thought of leaving the Archive fills him dread in a way that isn't logical in any way, shape or form. "I'm trapped here. It's like— I can't move on. And the more I struggle, the more stuck I get."

Jonathan pauses and draws in a breath, finally looking up to meet his eye. His brown eyes glint, his face expressionless apart from the fact he's frowning very slightly, his hand reaching for his wound. He can't tell if he's frowning because of the pain or because of what he said.

"Martin," he starts, picking with his other hand at his collar. He's long since discarded of his grandpa-style sweater, it sitting on the floor in between them. "You're not… uh… you didn't die here, did you?"

He's stunned into silence for a solid few seconds. "What?" He blinks. "What… n-no, what?!"

"No, I just—" Jonathan starts, bumbling through something, looking embarrassed, a faint flush to his light brown cheeks. "No, just— the way you phrased that—"

"Made you think I was a  _ ghost_?" he interrupts, unable to hide his giddy smile. Jonathan might be all serious all the time, but he can be a dork every once in a while.

"No, it's—"

He interrupts him again, "no, no… it’s just that whatever web these statements have caught you in, well, I’m there too." He sobers up a little, as much as he's still amused by Jonathan's one-second theory about his death. "We all are, I think."

Silence wraps over them like a sheet, and he pauses, and then sighs before lighting up again. "A ghost? Really?"

Jonathan rolls his eyes, huffs. "Shut up, Martin." He clicks the recorder off.

He can't help but burst into laughter, a last comfort throughout the infestation in the Archive. 


End file.
